"Eh!"
The peddler started and uttered the exclamation as though astonished.
"Now what?" demanded the young engineer as he began to wring himself.
"I reckon I've seen you before."
"It wouldn't be strange."
"Your from Grandon?"
"Yes."
"I git my stock in that town," proceeded Mr. Shanks. "I've seen a heap of
folks, and know a--many who don't know me."
"Undoubtedly."
"You remember seeing me at your house 'tother day don't you?"
"I do not."
"Ain't your name Barkswell?"
"No."
The one-eyed man fixed his single optic on the face of the wet youth in a
glance that was penetrating.
"I swear, but there's a mighty close resemblance."
"There must be. Many people have taken me to be somebody other than I am.
I do not understand it."
"What _is_ your name?"
"Bordine."
"Um!"
The peddler sat down on a log near, and crossing his legs, with both
hands on the back of his dog--he seemed to have only one now--he gazed
thoughtfully into vacancy.
"A strange resemblance," he muttered.
"Permit me to thank you for your kindness, Mr.----"
"Shanks--Hiram Shanks at your service," the peddler filled in.
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